And Merrily we Fall
by Don'tWorryBeHyper
Summary: It has been less than two months since the Fischer job, and the team finds themselves back at work trying to stop an attempt on Fischer's life. As they venture deeper into dreamspace, Ariadne struggles to keep the world around her from collapsing.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I saw Inception twice in two days. Lame, I know–but I'm in love.

Ariadne's dreams were no longer an escape.

They began flat, basic. As white and stiff as pasteboard. Some odd sort of security lay on the blank surface. She knew the feel and smell of white paper from her classes, the feel of the grain beneath tentative fingers, the quiet plea to be filled with charcoal.

And then they evolved. It always began rather slowly. A spire began here, curling quietly into existence. Windowpanes slid into view and gleamed, reflecting the streets that pooled onto the ground.

It was like a sketch drawn by a thousand hands in perfect synchronicity. No beginning and no end, and yet a rapid and cohesive rhythm to it.

Cobb had told her never to draw from a memory, and yet it all seemed frighteningly familiar to her. Where had she seen the streetlamp on the corner of that street? What had brought to mind the particular detail of the bricks of that wall?

And where were her projections? Where were those faces darting in and out of the corners of her eyes, never quite normal, and yet never outwardly _ab_normal?

Something was wrong. The air was too still. There was no smoke coming from the chimneys. The birdsong sounded piped-in and artificial, like a chorus of mechanical bluejays.

Mal came in. A sad specter in a silver gown, hem fluttering behind her in some phantom wind. She was beautiful–breathtakingly, heartstoppingly. She was also crying, but this was to be expected.

Mal was always crying. The sclera of her unsettling eyes was shot through with lacy pink veins. Gleaming tears wove trails down the soft skin of her cheeks. Her lips opened and closed, a wet _click _following their motion. She seemed to be wanting to say something, but she never spoke. Ariadne didn't know whether or not it was because Mal didn't want to, or because her own subconscious wouldn't allow the woman to talk.

Naturally, Mal the wraith caught up with Ariadne. This was because she never felt the need to run away in her dream. She knew what would happen. This dream repeated endlessly, a sickening rhythm to add to her listless life. Each day, she and the rest of the team stepped uneasily around the messy hole Cobb had left. Each night, the dream clawed its way behind her eyelids.

When Mal reached her, she turned to face her. Mal's smile was terrible and rapturous. She put a hand to Ariadne's cheek, and then let her hand slide to the base of the girl's skull, beneath her thick hair. The other hand rested softly, almost delicately on her throat.

With an ease that defied her slim frame, Mal snapped Ariadne's neck. The movement was always quick and fluid, like something a ballerina would partake in. Ariadne's feet skittered about the quicksilver streets of her dream as she felt bone needles tear through her skin. The space around her nose hurt, and she wondered if there were jagged slivers of bone prodding her there too, and behind her eyes.

No, she told herself as she began to fade. That's impossible. Your neck is snapped. You shouldn't feel anything around your nose.

Oh, well. It was a dream, so who was Ariadne to argue. As she tumbled to her knees on the slick pavement, she got one last, foggy look at Mal. The folds of her silk dress whipped around her body almost ferociously, as though the garment itself wanted to harm its wearer. Mal's sad eyes were blank and glazed as they watched the girl die beneath them. Still teary and bloodshot, Ariadne noted wryly. There was no villainous smile, no triumphant gleam to them.

The rough asphalt felt suddenly smooth as marble beneath the palms of the architect's hands. She pressed her forehead to the cool ground and gave in to death.

"Ariadne." Someone murmured her name. She opened her eyes slowly and watched as everything swam into focus.

Eames knelt beside the chair she had been sleeping in. Arthur stood by one of the enormous windows. The rising sun haloed his dark, slim figure in dazzling gold.

Eames' eyes were dark with concern. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Bad dream," she managed, forcing a shaky laugh. She tried to smile as she pulled the IV out of her wrist.

Eames checked the timer. "You had twelve minutes left. What happened?"

"I died," Ariadne replied, trying to keep her tone light. She avoided the forger's eyes as she shrugged her coat back on and smoothed her hair down. She brushed past him as she left the room. Eames watched her go with a raised eyebrow. Arthur turned slightly.

"Something the matter?"

"Naw. Everything's peachy in Dreamland," Eames snorted.

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched at the sarcasm. It was nice to see someone beginning to act normally after the Fischer job, even if it was Eames. He left the window and went through the doorway.

Ariadne watched Cobb sleep, his chest rising and falling in slow, even swells. Several tubes snaked from his arms: one to keep a steady stream of nutrients in his body, one to keep him hydrated, and one to keep him asleep. With a mind completely submerged in Limbo, the team had no idea how dangerous it might have been to wake him up.

"Hey," she murmured, pulling up a chair next to him. She flipped it and sat on it backwards, straddling it as she watched Cobb's eyes jump beneath their lids. "Um, I don't really know what to say. I feel like I'm talking to a coma patient." She paused. "I know you're not exactly in a coma, but I hope you can hear me."

Reaching out, she took one of his hands and squeezed it, more for her own comfort than for his. His skin was waxy and without temperature. "I've been dreaming about Mal a lot lately. I don't know why. She shouldn't be in my dream, though, because even if she was a projection, she wouldn't be able to hurt me."

So involved was she in her one-sided conversation that she did not hear Arthur come in behind her. She didn't notice him until his hand was on her shoulder, which made her nearly jump out of her skin. He watched her with his dark, quiet eyes as she calmed down. Perhaps he was amused, perhaps he was bored.

"You scared me."

"Not my intention." He glanced towards Cobb.

Ariadne took the opportunity to sneak a look at him. She wished she could burn that face onto her retinas, a luminous tattoo. His smooth skin, his high cheekbones, the way his eyes tilted very slightly upward. His lips.

Thinking about his mouth brings back a memory hazy enough to have been a dream itself. _A buzzing hotel lobby, modern and spacious with glowing white lightstrips along the walls. Sleek marble and granite. Sharp angles._

_"They're all looking at me," she remarked, fidgeting uncomfortably in the stiff business suit Eames insisted she wear to look the part. Arthur's head turned, and the barest hint of a smile tugged at his lips._

_"Quick, gimme a kiss."_

_She hesitated for a moment, remembering what Cobb had told her about projections being like white blood cells attacking a virus. Perhaps with Arthur, the white blood cells would pass over her._

_Leaning forward, her mouth brushed his. His lips parted ever so slightly, and Ariadne found hers doing the same. He watched her through eyes so hooded they might as well have been closed, and she felt a warm blush creep over her cheeks._

_When they pulled away seconds later, Ariadne scanned the projections. No different._

_"They're still staring," she noted, bemused._

_Arthur glanced away placidly. "It was worth a try."_

_Ariadne's figurative lightbulb clicked on. That sly dog. Giddy and embarrassed, she stared hard at her high heeled feet. The kiss, brief and unfulfilling as it had been, had filled her with pulsing heat and left her shivering happily._

When he looked back at her, she turned hastily away, swallowing.

"I heard what you said to Cobb," he informed her. "About Mal. You should have told me."

"I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Ariadne recoiled at the quiet anger in his voice. The hand was back on her shoulder, this time pulling her around to face him. "Ariadne, the last time Mal appeared in someone else's dream, she put a bullet in Fischer. We have no choice but to assume that she's dangerous."

"I'm sorry," she sighed, knowing she sounded bratty and defensive.

His features softened a fraction, and she relaxed. "It's alright. Just...please do tell me next time. You can trust me, Ariadne."

Their eyes locked for a moment. A bashful schoolgirl smile found its way onto her mouth, no matter how she tried to suppress it. "I know I can."

"Good." Arthur turned around and headed for the door. When he reached the doorframe, he leaned against it and looked back at her. "Speaking of Fischer, we received a call from him a couple of hours ago. It was a job offer. Standard extraction. We leave for the Fischer headquarters in two days."

And with that he turned and left. Ariadne sighed. Typical Arthur, expecting everyone to keep up with the rapid rhythm he and Cobb had operated so comfortably at.

It must be terrible, she reflected, her eyes once again on the dormant man, to lose someone you've been working next to for so long.

"Good night, Cobb," she murmured, standing up and returning the chair to its position. As she was buttoning up her coat, her hand brushed against something cold and slender in her pocket, and she carefully slipped her hand into the fold of fabric, pulling out a golden bishop.

Her heartbeat felt as though it had tripled, like she had been running. Biting down on her lip to keep from hyperventilating, Ariadne placed the bishop on the table and flicked it. She followed its trajectory as it wobbled, tipped and fell.

I'm becoming paranoid, she thought as she stuffed her totem back into her pocket. Just like Cobb.

* * *

Two days later, a white van came to collect Ariadne at her dorm room. She was ready at the door with a packed suitcase. Inside the van, Arthur, Eames and Yusuf were waiting. The van took them to a field in the outskirts of Paris, where they boarded a helicopter. They flew to Los Angeles, a dreadfully long flight Ariadne spent sleeping.

Mal did not show up in any of her dreams. For that she was thankful.

The helicopter took them to a private airport, where they got into another white van.

The van slid into a large, nearly empty parking lot. Above them loomed a statuesque skyscraper, made of the smoothest gray marble. Ariadne jiggled her foot nervously as Arthur and Yusuf spoke in whispers from the front seat. She was seated beside Eames, who leaned his head against one of the van's tinted windows with a bored expression. She wasn't sure what they were going to do; Arthur had been sparing with details, as he usually was.

"We're here," Arthur announced. "Get out and follow me."

The team obeyed soundlessly. Ariadne felt babyish standing next to them–three intimidating-looking men in dark clothing–while she wore her stupid flowery skirt and white scarf. They strode up to the security booth at the end of the lot, where a burly guard stopped them.

"Please state your business."

Arthur flashed a smile. Ariadne couldn't help but notice the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. "My name is Carl Baldwin. We've got an appointment with Mr. Fischer. We were scheduled for eleven o'clock."

The guard hit a buzzer.

"Yes?" Fischer's voice was easily recognizable, even with the static.

"Do you have an appointment at eleven? Man by the name of Carl?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright, sir. Sorry to bother you." The guard took his finger off the button. "Proceed, Mr. Baldwin."

They went into the building, cutting through an oak-paneled foyer lit by post-war style gaslamps.

"It's so nice in here," Ariadne noted, her voice echoing through the lobby. "You don't see corporate buildings like these too often."

"Spoken like a true architect," someone said behind her. The team turned around.

Robert Fischer leaned against the deserted reception desk. Ariadne looked into his steely blue eyes and felt a twinge. The last time she had seen him was when she had hurled his body off of Mal's porch, deep inside the twisted womb of Limbo. He acknowledged her with a brief nod.

"If you'll follow me, we can get down to business."

Arthur smirked. He was never happy taking orders, even from Cobb.

They were led into an old-fashioned elevator by Fischer, one that closed with an iron grate. He hit the button for the tallest floor: 47. As the elevator mechanism clicked and whirred, he turned to Yusuf.

"Do you have it?" he murmured.

"Of course." Yusuf patted his trouser pocket.

"Does he have what?" Ariadne wanted to know. Fischer put a finger to his lips and shushed her playfully. She blushed and looked down at the carpeted floor.

When the lift stopped, Fischer pulled the grate aside and took them to what had formerly been his father's office. He motioned for them to sit in comfortable-looking leather armchairs, and then went and leaned against the desk.

"I'm glad you could make it," he began. "I've managed to empty the building for the day, but in any case, we must be discreet." Opening one of his desk drawers, he pulled out a manilla envelope and tossed it to Arthur. "These were taken the day I landed in Los Angeles with my father's remains."

Arthur opened the envelope and examined the photos. They were black and white 8x11's, printed out on glossy photo paper. There were shots of Fischer leaving the airport, getting into a Lincoln towncar, stopping at the spacious Fischer estate. What was most disturbing was the fact that the photographer had marked a scarlet crosshair in every photo, circling Fischer's head.

"We checked the airport security cameras. No one was seen with a camera anywhere near me," Fischer said as the rest of the group went over the pictures.

"So someone did it with a telescopic photo lens," Arthur replied.

"Yes. However, the only other building in the area is the airport parking garage, and security tapes showed no one with a camera there either."

"So what does this mean?" Eames interjected.

"It means that someone must have had a hidden camera device," Arthur explained, his eyes still on the photographs. He looked up a moment later. "These crosshairs are obviously a taunt. A threat of some kind."

"And that's not all." Fischer picked up another envelope, a smaller white one. He pulled a folded slip of paper from it and opened it up. "I received this a day later."

"What does it say?" Ariadne asked.

"It says," Fischer answered, his voice gone suddenly softer. " '_You won't wake up this time_.' "

The room was silent for a moment. Then Fischer, seemingly snapping out of it, pushed away from the desk.

"Um...anyway, we ran samples of every employee in the building's handwriting. And we found a perfect match. Browning's."

Ariadne's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God. Why would he want to do that?"

"I don't know. That's why I called you in here." Fischer carried a tray with decanters over to the desk and took a glass, fixing himself a whiskey on the rocks as he spoke. "I'm somewhat convinced that someone's been messing with Browning's mind."

"You mean someone's performed Inception on him," Eames replied.

"Yes." Fischer took a deep drink. "I believe that someone has implanted in his mind the desire to overthrow Fischer Corporation. And that could mean innocent people getting hurt."

"So you want us to get inside his head and figure out who planted this idea," Arthur murmured. He knit his fingers together in thought. Ariadne tried to stop herself from staring at his hands, remembering all the little brushes and touches.

"Exactly. I'm sorry to say it doesn't end there, though," Fischer sighed, taking another gulp. "Fischer Corp is holding a massive conference. And if someone is going to make an attempt on my or anyone else's life, they will have ample opportunity to do so. So I am asking you to do some sleuthing. Figure out who is manipulating Browning, and stop them." He paused and looked directly at Arthur. "If you accept the job, I'm prepared to pay a hefty sum."

Everyone turned to Arthur. He tilted his chin down and smiled coldly. "We accept."

"Wonderful." Fischer finished his drink. "Please get to work immediately."

* * *

"So let me get this straight." Ariadne pressed her palm against the fogged-up hotel window. Fischer Corp had financed hotel rooms for them, cold, modern rooms with sleek furnishings. Ariadne thought they suited Arthur's personality well, because she knew he had a penchant for bare spaces. More room to think. "We're supposed to find the person who performed Inception on Browning."

"Right," Arthur replied, not looking up. He was busy on a laptop, scanning through the security tapes at Fischer Corp.

"But how?"

"The safe," Eames cut in. "If someone has performed Inception, they'll have broken into the safe. It's our job to find what they put in there. From there, we can find whoever did it, and go inside their mind to find out whatever motives they might have had."

"Oh. Great. Sounds easy enough," she mumbled. Eames laughed. "So what do you want me for?"

Arthur closed the laptop and leaned back in the hotel armchair, sleek as a jungle cat in his black suit. "When we find the culprit, we'll need to lead them into a dream. Somewhere familiar, to establish a false sense of security. Designing that dream world is your job."

"Just another day in the life..." Ariadne sighed. She rested her forehead against the window and basked in the glow of the LA sunset.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! Also, thank you for telling me that the centered text was difficult to read. I appreciate the heads-up.

Naturally, she had no idea how she'd gotten there.

It was a small town square, something ancient and elegant. The square itself was simple gray stone, but in each corner were iron light posts blooming from the ground like metal flowers, decorated with small details, curlicues and the like. The sky was a stormy gray, threatening raindrops. Ariadne pulled the collar of her coat up and tucked her hands into her pocket.

The square was completely empty. Wind caused the trees planted at regular intervals to creak and groan in protest. Sprays of brittle brown leaves whipped across Ariadne's vision.

Something darted from the corner of her eye. Ariadne turned. Mal stood in one of the corners of the square, her silver gown the same color as the sky above. She wore no coat, and yet the wind didn't seem to bother her.

Ariadne turned. Fear and adrenaline spiked in her veins.

But she would not run.

Mal approached, a beautiful mercury-clad ghost. Thick, wavy hair–the same color as Ariadne's but much shorter–blew about her face in a silky curtain. Her eyelashes were black spikes, clumped together by her tears. Sad, bloodshot eyes and trembling lips glared reproachfully at the girl with the flowery skirt and the white scarf.

"Please don't," Ariadne sighed, but she was already readying herself for the pain, because she knew she would not put up a fight.

Mal's movements were tender and gentle, slowly placing her hands on the girl's neck and shoulder. Two more tears trailed sluggishly down her cheeks.

And then she splintered Ariadne's neck.

"No! Mal!" she tried to scream, but her mouth was already filled with the silence of approaching death, thick and muffling as cotton wool. She tumbled to the ground, and there was only blackness.

Arthur was sitting at the edge of Ariadne's hotel bed when she awoke. She thrashed about like a madwoman, flailing arms and legs. Arthur pinned her arms to the mattress to keep her from scratching him. Her face was wet with perspiration and tears.

"Ariadne! Ariadne!" he shouted, shaking her firmly. Her body went limp as her eyes slowly focused. She shivered like a wet kitten, fresh tears spilling down her face.

"A-Arthur?" she croaked.

"Don't try to talk. Calm down. Slow your breathing," he instructed her brusquely.

Ariadne took in a deep, gulping breath, and another, until she could breathe without her breath hitching. Arthur grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the hotel dresser and offered them to her, and she cleaned her face of the tears. She tried to sit up and flopped back down. Arthur slid his arm under her back and helped her into a sitting position, propping her up with a couple of pillows.

"What happened?" he asked.

Ariadne looked down at the white hotel bedspread, too timid to meet his eyes. "Just a…nightmare."

Arthur stared at her for one long moment with expressionless dark eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ears nervously.

"Well, you can still dream," he murmured, looking away and standing up. "That, at the very least, is good news."

"Do-do you still dream?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He paused. "Sometimes," he replied finally. "Just sometimes." Then he continued on his way out of the hotel room. "Meet me and the rest of the team in the hotel lobby in fifteen minutes. Bring your designs."

When the door closed, Ariadne slumped down on the bed for a moment. Then she got up and hurried to the hotel bathroom. A quick, hot shower washed away the last of the dream's terror, and as she pulled on fresh clothes, she felt as though she could forget what had happened. She hadn't been hooked up to any machinery, she reasoned. So why would Mal appearing in her dream be a threat at all? It was to be expected.

Down in the hotel lobby, Arthur, Eames and Yusuf waited for her. Arthur, she was pleasantly surprised to see, was wearing civilian clothes, a brown leather jacket and black jeans.. The sight of him standing there, jacket and jeans cut close so as to show off how long-limbed and muscled he was, would have wet the panties of any woman nearby.

_Stop it, _Ariadne chided herself. _This is no time to be thinking about your panties._

"Morning." Eames grinned. "You're looking awfully cute, darling."

"Am I?" she asked, a smile finding its way onto her face anyway. Being around Eames always calmed her down.

"I'm afraid we don't have much time to exchange pleasantries," Yusuf cut in, his expression grave. "We have to get right to work."

Eames fake saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Ariadne." Yusuf tossed her a plastic vial. She managed to catch it out of the air and held it up, examining its contents. A thick, white liquid filled the tube halfway.

"What is this?"

"A sedative. Nothing terribly powerful, but enough to buy us about two hours of Browning's dream-space. Have you brought the layouts?"

"Yeah." Ariadne pulled the rolled-up white papers out of her bag.

"Good. Now, go with Eames to the hotel's restaurant. Browning will be breakfasting with Fischer there. Eames has a waitress' uniform in your size stashed in the supply closet across the hall from the restaurant entrance. You will put it on and take Browning's order. Whatever he orders, make sure the sedative gets into it. You know where to go from there."

Ariadne's body pulsed with adrenaline. This feeling, this nervous, stomach-clenching thrill, was something she hadn't felt since the last job. "Alright."

Fischer acknowledged her briefly when she walked in. She gave a tiny smile, and his light blue eyes sparkled almost playfully, with a guarded mischief they seemed to hold whenever they looked at her. Ariadne's smile widened before she could stop it. She didn't know Fischer very well, but the handsome entrepreneur seemed like a nice enough guy.

She tried to slow the thudding of her heart down as she approached the table. Her name tag said SHELLY on it, and hopefully Browning didn't recognize her.

"Good morning," she chirped, forcing her voice into a higher, sugarier octave. "I'm Shelly. I'll be your waitress this morning. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Coffee," Fischer said, looking up at her with a more polite, calculated smile. Browning didn't look away from his menu.

"Same," he ordered.

"Right away," she bubbled. She turned and hurried into the kitchen and quickly filled two cups with black coffee. When none of the regular waitstaff seemed to be looking, she ducked out through the kitchen's other swinging door, to the employees only restroom. Locking the door behind her, she set the coffee cups on the rim of the sink and pulled the vial of sedative out of her trouser pocket, tipping the contents into one of the cups.

Looking up, she stole a glance at herself in the mirror. She had hoped she looked natural and convincing, but her cheeks were pink with nervousness, and her hair had dried before she'd gotten to brush it out completely, the moisture making it slightly crazier than usual.

_Relax_, she told herself. _You look fine. Browning won't suspect a thing. Everything'll go smoothly._

Ariadne took one more deep breath and grabbed the coffee cups, hurrying out into the dining area. She gave a big smile as she set the coffee in front of the two men, careful to remember which one was the drugged one.

"Here you go. I'll be back in a minute to take the rest of your order."

Then, as Eames had instructed her to do on the way up, she grabbed her normal clothes from the supply closet and changed back, before heading back down to the hotel lobby to wait.

Arthur and Eames came down first, with Browning's weight supported between them and Fischer trailing behind.

"Yusuf is waiting for us at the Fischer building," Arthur told her as they lugged Browning towards the hotel entrance. "We'll be done in a few hours. Wait for us here in your hotel room."

"Hey, no fair!" she called, jogging after him. "I'm the one who had to knock him out. Why can't I come?"

Arthur slid out from beneath Browning's arm and took her by the shoulder, leading her a few feet away from the rest of the team.

"Ariadne, we don't need your architecture skills for this particular phase of the plan. Besides, you've never done an Extraction before. It could be dangerous."

"Oh, and Inception wasn't?" she demanded, arching her eyebrows. "In case you've forgotten, Arthur, I had to go into Limbo last time, and I came out perfectly fine. I'll be okay. Just trust me on this."

She paused for breath, heart pounding, as she watched a flash of anger pass over Arthur's dark eyes. Her heart was pounding; she had never confronted him about anything before. Things between them had always been smooth.

"Fine," he said at last. "I don't like it, but I suppose you have a point." He turned and rejoined the group, Ariadne hurrying to catch up to his long-legged strides. She walked behind Eames, Arthur and Browning, next to Fischer.

"Nice job," he murmured. She turned, and Fischer tipped his head to the side, smiling.

"Huh?"

"You're a very strong-willed person. It's refreshing."

"Thank you." She knew her cheeks were bright pink. Fischer's smile widened and he turned away.

Browning's dreamscape was a beautiful villa in the countryside. The house was butter yellow, with white windowframes and columns, Colonial-style. Ariadne tipped her head back so as to be able to see all three stories from where she stood in the front yard. The white dress Browning had dreamed her into whipped about her knees in the light breeze, and the tall grass surrounding the house tickled her legs.

Someone's hand brushed against the small of her back, and she jumped. Arthur stood behind her, clad in gray slacks and a white shirt. The first few buttons were undone, and Ariadne hoped her eyes didn't linger too long on his Adam's apple, on the exposed hollow of his throat and the swell of his collarbones.

"You look nice," he said, a small smile on his lips.

Ariadne raised her eyebrows. "So do you. Browning dreamed us up out of an L.L Bean catalogue."

Arthur's smile morphed into a grin. "Let's go in. The safe has to be in there somewhere." He offered her his hand, and she took it, marveling at how much longer his fingers were than hers, and how warm his skin was.

The whitewashed double doors led into a long, narrow dining room. Fischer, Yusuf and a beautiful redhead woman Ariadne didn't recognize sat at one end of the oak table, their faces thrown in shadow by the sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The woman looked up. "Look who decided to join us." Something in her eyes and her smirk sent a wave of recognition through Ariadne.

"Eames?"

"Who else?" the woman stood up, and the architect saw how short her pale blue dress was. "I am rather enjoying this one. Browning's wife. Former beauty queen."

"I can see why," Ariadne replied.

"We should get to work," Yusuf interrupted.

"Don't rain on my parade, darling," the redhead cooed, gliding past them. "Browning's on the back porch. I'll keep him distracted while you search for the combination."

"Lead him into the upstairs study. That's where the safe is," Arthur instructed. "If the projections begin to attack, we'll all re-group in there."

"Yes, Master." Curtsying briefly, "she" exited.

"There should be a master bedroom directly above us," Arthur noted. "I'm going to comb the room."

"I'll come with you," Ariadne volunteered hastily. She felt that her inclusion in the operation called for participation.

Arthur motioned for her to follow him up a set of white stairs to the second-story hallway, where he took the first door to the left. Inside, a gorgeous bedroom held a white canopy bed, a dark oak vanity, a desk and a dresser.

"You think the combination's in here?" she asked.

"I'm almost positive." Arthur strode towards the vanity and began opening silver-handled drawers, moving aside old-fashioned perfume bottles and mirror-backed hairbrushes. He held up a slip of paper a moment later. "This could be important."

He turned and saw Ariadne staring outside the window, leaning against the wall. The early evening light made her skin luminous. He followed the line of her throat with his eyes, down to where the low-cut bodice of the dress gave way to the merest hint of cleavage, and imagined that dress rucked up around her waist, her legs locked around his hips and her face buried in his shoulder.

Ariadne turned to meet his eyes, and he swallowed, hastily dismissing the fancy.

"Important for what?" she asked.

Before he could answer, the door crashed open, and a man in a butler's uniform stormed in, clutching a large kitchen knife. The man lunged at Arthur, knocking him to the ground before the point man had time to react. The projection sat astride Arthur's chest, and raised the knife over his head.

Ariadne darted forward and grabbed his wrist, yanking his arm away, and the knife clattered to the floor. Arthur rolled out from beneath him and pulled his gun out of his belt holster.

The man hurled Ariadne off his back and reached for the knife, but Arthur fired a frighteningly precise shot to the man's forehead, the gunshot only making a soft _snick _sound because of the silencer. The projection fell dead instantly.

"He's had training," Arthur muttered, kicking the knife under the canopy bed. His lip was busted from when the projection had knocked him down, and blood coated the corner of his mouth.

"You're bleeding," Ariadne said, coming forward to inspect the wound. Arthur turned away, and she took his chin in her hand, turning his face to hers so she could see the injury.

When she looked up from his lip, she saw he had been watching her. As usual, reading whatever expression dwelled in his dark eyes was near impossible, but Ariadne knew simply enough what he was thinking when he ducked his head down so their lips were less than an inch apart. She leaned forward, and a crashing noise sounded.

They broke apart and turned toward the door. Two women in maid uniforms rushed at them, one of them clutching a heavy-looking brass candlestick. Arthur dispatched them both hastily and leaned down, pulling his right trouser leg up to reveal an ankle holster with another gun in it. He took it out and handed it to Ariadne.

"You walk around with _two _guns?" she demanded, voice shrill with nervousness.

"Always prepared," he answered, smiling grimly. "Come on." He headed out the room, paper tucked safely inside his pocket, and Ariadne followed.

There were loud crashing noises coming from the downstairs of the house as they ran across the second floor hallway. Yusuf, and Fischer hurried to join them,Yusuf clutching a small plastic gun in one hand.

"What is that?" Arthur asked him as they rounded a corner in the corridor.

"Tranquilizer gun," the chemist panted.

"Tranqs?" Arthur demanded. "These are projections, Yusuf. We shoot to kill."

"They're not for the projections," came Yusuf's reply. "They're for us."

"Why?" Ariadne queried.

Yusuf pursed his lips. "Let's hope you don't have to find out."

A splintering noise filled the air. Arthur muttered a curse under his breath as they reached the end of the hall. "They've broken down the front door."

The sounds of running feet, bodies thundering through the downstairs sent waves of panic through Ariadne. "We have to get to the study!" she cried.

"That's where we're headed." Arthur knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, and the redhead popped her head out.

"Let us in. They'll be coming up soon."

Silently, she let them inside. Arthur dragged the heavy oak desk in front of the door and turned to Browning.

"Excuse me, but I think I have a right to know what's going on!" the businessman ranted, flustered.

"Normally, I would concur," Arthur replied. The disguised forger crept up behind Browning and grabbed his hands, pinning them behind his back and locking them with silver cuffs. "However, we have a job to do, and we don't have time to waste with explanations."

"A job? What do you mean?" Browning demanded. Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back, so that he staggered and fell into an armchair. Browning turned to Fischer, who was watching the action unfold with a grim expression on his face, his eyes focused on the ground.

"Robert! Won't you tell me what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Pete," Fischer sighed, fidgeting uncomfortably. Ariadne felt a stab of pity.

Ariadne heard a series of clattering noises and turned around. Arthur and Eames, who was now back in his regular form, were yanking out drawers, pulling books from the shelves and overturning stacks of papers, silently destroying the quaint room in search of the safe.

Closing her eyes, the architect listened to the cacophony of sounds overwhelming her and prayed for some semblance of logic, even in the most twisted crevices of the dream.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here's chapter 2. I'm glad so many people wanted more, 'cause I am prepared to give.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note-VERY IMPORTANT!: **

**I showed this to my friend and the first thing she said was, "Why does Fischer recognize them?"**

**I realized the hole in my plot.**

**But it's too late to go back and change it, since the entire dynamic and story centers around them knowing each other.**

**So, here's my verdict:**

**SCREW STICKING TO THE MOVIE. FISCHER RECOGNIZES THEM. LET'S LEAVE IT AT THAT.**

**I don't mean any offense to people who pointed this out. This just means you're smarter than me.**

**Anyways, thanks again for the reviews! God I love this movie.**

There were footsteps, the thuds of many pairs of feet thundering up the stairs. Arthur was irritated, a feeling that would surely morph into panic. They didn't have much time to do this.

"Here." Eames, back in his regular form, yanked a thick, leather-bound book out of the bookshelf and it swung aside, revealing a set of stairs that led downward.

"I could kiss you," Arthur said sarcastically.

"I think there's someone in this room you'd rather kiss," Eames murmured under his breath.

Arthur shot him a death glare and glanced to see if Ariadne had heard. She was standing at the other side of the room, conversing quietly with Fischer and looking worriedly at the barricaded door. Arthur felt a prick of envy at the pit of his stomach, but ignored it, turning to the doorway.

"Come on. The safe's got to be down here."

Ariadne looked up. Arthur noticed that Fischer's eyes lingered on her still.

"What about the projections?"

"Well, hopefully, they won't catch up to us. Come on." He gestured for everyone to go down the steps. Yusuf and Eames, Browning in tow, started down, Browning blathering about "what had happened to his wife" all the while.

Fischer grinned at Ariadne. "After you."

"Thank you." She smiled at him over her shoulder and strode in. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Casanova," he said. "Get in."

Fischer raised an eyebrow and followed her in. Arthur went last. He saw a switch on the wall next to the steps and flicked it, and sure enough, the bookcase swung back into place behind him. The moment the shelf was in place, arrow of electric lights spaced evenly apart along the walls flickered on, illuminating the stairway. The group migrated downwards, Arthur looking behind them every so often, gun in hand.

The staircase ended in a long hallway. Each side was lined with metal doors, each with a red number on them, going from one to nine. They had no handle or knob, but a plastic control panel at the foot of the stairs had nine numbered buttons on them, and an ENTER key at the bottom.

"Where's the safe?" Arthur asked Browning.

"Why should I tell you?" the businessman snapped.

Arthur rolled his eyes, tucked his gun into his belt, and punched Browning in the face. The man staggered backward, blood flowing from his nose.

"I'm only going to ask you one more time," Arthur announced, his voice seething with mute fury. Ariadne shuddered.

"Why don't you figure it out for yourself?" Browning croaked, defiant even as he winced in pain. "There're nine doors. One of 'em's got the safe behind it."

Arthur looked as though he wanted to sock Browning again, but instead he turned away, pressed ONE and then ENTER. The door with the one on it swung open, and a projection with a machine gun jumped out, sending a spray of bullets out.

Yusuf and Fischer collapsed like rag dolls, blood oozing from their chests and stomachs, respectively. Ariadne screamed, still not accustomed to watching her comrades die in the dream world. She watched the life flicker out of the chemists' warm brown eyes, and then Fischer's steely eyes went blank as well.

Eames managed to tackle the projection, sending him down, but not before he got a bullet flying towards Browning, who fell to his knees, bellowing in agony.

Eames wrestled the gun from the thrashing projection, and Arthur dispatched him with a shot to the chest.

"Why did his own projection shoot him?" Ariadne demanded, whirling around and taking in the carnage at her feet.

"It was a defense mechanism," Arthur explained. "The projection was preventing Browning from telling us where the safe is."

Browning crumpled to the floor, wheezing as blood filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Eames checked for a pulse in both the chemist and the young heir before pronouncing them both dead, and then hurried to Browning.

"He's fading fast, Arthur. The dream'll collapse if we don't find the safe soon."

Arthur cursed under his breath. "I guess we'll just have to open all the doors." He entered the other eight numbers and hit ENTER.

The other doors popped open, revealing nothing but closet-sized rooms behind them.

"So what–" Eames began. He was cut off by the sound of gunfire.

The forger and the architect turned around. The projection with the machine gun had stood up with one hand over the bullet wound in his chest, and with the other hand pulled the trigger one more time, riddling the point man with bullets. Arthur stood perfectly still for a moment as four red spots bloomed on different parts of his shirt, and then he fell to his knees.

"Arthur!" Ariadne shrieked. The projection aimed the gun at her with a shaky hand and she reacted without thinking, raising the gun and firing. The projection looked dazed for a moment before falling dead.

Eames whistled. "Not a bad shot at all, darling."

Ariadne ran to the point man, who lay on his stomach, shuddering as blood seeped through his white shirt.

"Arthur!" She sank to her knees beside him. "Arthur, we have to find the safe. We can't–"

"We–don't have–time," he sputtered, eyelids beginning to flutter. "You and–Eames find–the safe before Browning–dies. Wake me–up."

"I can't…I mean, I don't…" she ran her hands through her hair.

"Just do it," he rasped.

Ariadne closed her eyes, feeling two tears stream down her cheeks as she did so. She raised the gun and pressed the cold muzzle to Arthur's forehead, and then squeezed the trigger.

The soft clicking noise was the only indication of her having fired. Arthur's dark eyes were wide open, fixated on nothing. Gray, gelatinous mounds of brain matter pooled around his open skull.

Eames watched Ariadne stand up shakily. "Come on, darling. We don't have much time to waste." Briskly, he turned around and felt at the walls of the little metal compartments until he reached number seven, where the back wall swung around like a panel, revealing the safe attached to the other side.

The moment the wall clicked in place, the floor began shaking. The walls creaked and groaned in protest, thick clouds of rubble spraying down. Ariadne coughed as dust coated the back of her throat and shielded her eyes from falling hunks of rock and metal.

"The dream's collapsing," she wheezed.

"Get the combination!" Eames shouted, his voice sounding far away through the sounds of the house coming down.

Ariadne crawled on her knees, dodging the debris as she reached Arthur's cold corpse. Gingerly, she rolled him on his side, grimacing at the feel of the sticky blood on her hand. She thrust her hand into his pocket and felt around until her fingers brushed against the slip of paper. Pulling it out, she staggered across the trembling floor to the forger.

"Read them off to me," he ordered, trying in vain to steady himself against the wall.

Ariadne found she had to shout to be heard over the din. She began calling out numbers, oblivious to everything else until she smelled something slight and floral.

It was a woman's perfume, coming from behind her. She turned around and came face-to-face with Mal. The woman took a step towards her, silver gown seeming to glow in the low light.

"Eames, open the safe _now_," she instructed, not looking away from Mal. She knew exactly why Cobb's wife was here, and this only limited their time more.

The corners of Mal's mouth twitched, as though she might be trying to smile. She raised her arm. In her manicured hand was a small silver pistol.

"Mal, _NO_!" the architect screamed. She heard the bang, even through the symphony of terrible sounds around her, and let out a little scream as she heard Eames fall behind her.

The projection watched the forger die with mild interest, before turning to Ariadne again and tossing the gun aside. Ariadne hurried to the safe and managed to open it. Inside, a tiny gray velvet box sat in the depths of the safe. She snatched it up, even as she felt Mal's cold hands curl around her throat. The hands tightened, and black dots popped up in Ariadne's vision. Sputtering for oxygen, she tried to fight as Mal spun her around and threw her.

Ariadne's back collided with a metal wall, the collision creating a long, drawn-out ringing sound. She slumped to the floor, rendered senseless by the pain for a moment, as Mal's heel came down on her hand, sending the little box skittering across the floor. She threw herself onto her good hand and legs and crawled after it, but the heel came down on her already-tender back, sending her onto her stomach. She looked up and saw Mal move slightly aside, as the falling dream sent a large metal beam crashing down onto her.

The ache of the collision, the agony of her neck being snapped in previous dreams was small potatoes in comparison to the mind-blanking, wrenching pain that gripped her. She could hear herself screaming deliriously, but she forced one trembling arm to reach for the little box, the one that lay only inches from her fingertips. She managed to grab it and drag it closer to her face, where she undid the tiny clasp.

The box sprung open. Inside, two sapphire cufflinks nestled. Ariadne stared at them long and hard, struggling through the hazy wall of pain in her mind to absorb the details of the links, before she felt the now-familiar sensation of death crawling over her.

**…**

Everyone else had already woken up, and had quietly begun to move about the room, trying their best to ignore the jerking of the still-dreaming architect.

"We should wake her," Fischer said softly, eyeing the girl.

"We can't," Arthur replied brusquely, feeling a prickle of annoyance. Since when had Fischer been her keeper? "She's our last hope of getting into the safe. We can't break into Browning's dreams again before the conference."

"She'll wake up soon," Yusuf broke in, casting Arthur a warning look.

The point man turned away, mouth set into a hard line.

And wake up she did. She bolted upright, a terrible, blood-curdling scream tearing itself from her throat.

The rest of the team rushed to her. Arthur knelt beside her, detaching the tube from her wrist and taking her by the shoulders. "Ariadne, you're awake. It's alright."

The room was silent as a tomb as Ariadne's breathing gradually slowed. Arthurs hands tightened around her shoulders, and he couldn't help but be amazed at how delicate she felt, like he was cradling the body of a small bird.

"It's alright," he repeated, lowering his voice and trying not to sound so harsh. He could feel the group's eyes on his back, but he didn't care.

Ariadne nodded, swallowing, and stood up. She had taken half a step when her legs gave out and she tumbled downwards.

Arthur reacted fast, catching her and scooping her up.

"Why…"

"You've taken large amounts of sedative, and you've probably had a fairly traumatic experience. It's to be expected," Yusuf spoke up, a reminder to Arthur that he and Ariadne weren't the only ones in the room.

"I'll get you somewhere you can lie down," Arthur murmured, hoping to comfort her. Exhausted, she nodded, slender fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket as he carried her out the door and into an adjoining room, a small lounge. He laid her down on one of the couches and took off his leather jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Did you get inside the safe?" he asked softly.

"I did. There was a…" she closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. "A pair of cuff links. Sapphire and gold."

Arthur grinned. He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, tracing the length of her cheekbone with his finger. Her skin was as white and soft as a lily petal. "Good job."

She smiled faintly back, and closed her eyes. "Mal was there," she confessed. "She shot Eames."

The grin dropped off of his face like a hot rock. He could hear the thudding of his heart in his chest, a sound so loud he wondered if she could hear it too.

This was bad. This was very bad.

"Don't worry. It doesn't matter," he lied, keeping his voice soft and comforting. "Now relax. You've got a lot of work to do later."

She sighed contentedly. "You're a good guy, Arthur. You know that?"

"I try."

Propping herself up, she leaned forward and gave him the lightest of kisses on the cheek. Then she flopped back down.

Arthur sat there, frozen for a moment, before he remembered how to move again and stood up. Her lips left the faintest tingle on the side of his face, only fuel for his imagination, of all the other things they could do. He could shove her down onto that couch and fuck her if he so desired.

But right now, the only thing he felt for her was fear. An icy fear that gripped him like a hand from the inside.

And he and fear were strangers. In his line of work, you got what was thrown at you and you didn't fear it. You accepted it or you overcame it.

In this case, he felt as though he could do neither.


	4. Chapter 4

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know if I agree with Cobb being stuck in Limbo either, but this story kind of depends on it, so I'm trying it out. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!**

The conference room reminded Ariadne of the lecture halls she sat in so many times in Paris. The seats formed a semi-circle, each row a tad higher than the row in front of it.

She watched business types mill about, talking and laughing and schmoozing, the way those corporate types always did. Her eyes scoped the room, searching for someone acting the least bit suspicious.

Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary. Ariadne massaged her temples, tired and frustrated. She had woken up on that sofa with a killer headache and a dry throat, only to be told that they needed to hurry back to the hotel because Fischer was going to give a talk there in half an hour and God only knew what could happen down there.

A half hour later, the architect sat alone in her corner, feeling ridiculously out of place in her jeans and scarf as people in business dress surrounded her. Arthur and the rest of the team, naturally, blended in seamlessly, and were conversing with different groups of people, subtly gathering as much information as they could. Ariadne glanced to her right and caught Arthur talking to a gorgeous blond in a tight black suit. She laughed at something he said, brushing her hair over her shoulder coyly, and he gave a smile. Ariadne felt her stomach twist with envy before realizing that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Someone bumped into her. A low voice murmured, "Oh, sorry."

She looked over her shoulder. "It's fi–"

Her breath caught in her throat. The voice belonged to a middle-aged businessman in an immaculate navy blue suit. As he apologized, he reached down to adjust his cuff links.

His sapphire cuff links.

"Something the matter?" he asked, and Ariadne realized she'd been staring at him.

"No. Nothing," she replied quickly, flashing a smile. She waited for him to pass her by before standing up and hurrying to Arthur.

"Arthur, I need to talk to you–"

"Who's Arthur?" the blonde interrupted, her pretty face a mask of confusion. "I thought you said your name was David."

"It's my last name," he told her, shooting a muted death glare at Ariadne. "If you'll excuse me, I need to talk to my associate for a moment."

Ariadne smirked at the blonde and looped her arm through Arthur's. "Come on, associate. Let's talk." The blonde's glossed-out mouth fell open, and Ariadne led him away.

"We have to keep a low profile around here," Arthur hissed as they wove their way through various throngs. "We can't risk anyone knowing our real identities. And what is so important that you have to drag me away like this?"

Ariadne raised an eyebrow, feeling the ugly jealousy grow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you busy _secretly getting information out of her_? Like her phone number?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or not?"

She gestured to the man, who was now shaking hands with other people, confident and smiling like a politician. "Remember how I told you the box in Browning's safe had sapphire cuff links in it? That man right there is wearing them."

Arthur squinted. Ariadne watched his jaw set, and his face was suddenly the picture of business. She had seen that determined look many times before, when he was shooting out of the window of a car or scanning files for information. "Good eyes. I'll alert the rest of the team."

With that, he turned and strode away. Ariadne caught the blonde staring after him longingly. She looked at the floor so as to avoid shooting her any eye daggers.

_Retract the claws, Ari_, she told herself. _He doesn't _belong _to you. He kissed you once. So what? He's probably kissed tons of women._

**…**

The team posted themselves around different areas of the room, avoiding making eye contact with each other. Arthur sat in the back row, his eyes trained on the man with the cuff links three rows in front of him.

Arthur was a very organized person. And very organized people could think about two things at the same time.

Thus, Arthur thought about two things.

The first was the man in front of him. He kept his hand at the ready, in case he should need to pull out his Smith & Wesson model 632. Every time the man sneezed or fidgeted in his seat, Arthur was ready to have that gun pointed directly at the back of his head.

The second was the situation with Ariadne. Somehow, Mal had crept into the architect's subconscious, just as she had Cobb's. This would mean that Ariadne had ventured deep into Cobb's head–inside his most private dreams, somewhere Arthur had never been, in all the years he had worked with Cobb.

Arthur couldn't help but suppress a pang of envy at the thought. Why had Cobb chosen to entrust this to someone he barely knew?

And what could they do about Ariadne? They didn't have time to get another Architect on such short notice–certainly no one nearly as talented.

He slowly rolled his shoulders back and sighed. He needed fresh air. Standing up, the Point Man signaled to Eames, who was sitting a couple more rows back, to take over the watch on this man and stepped out of the conference room.

Arthur walked down the hotel hallway, his stomach filled with a sinking sense of dread. He knew that keeping Ariadne out of the mission was impossible–she was the only person who could create these dream environments the exact way they needed to be made, and the mazes she had come up with were brilliant. Therefore, he could only keep her in the dream and hope that Mal didn't decide to show up.

Naturally, she would.

_What does she want with us? _He wondered, leaning against one of the paneled hotel hallways. Just being in a hotel reminded him all too clearly of running through a tilting corridor, pursued by gun-toting Projections. _She must know that Cobb's stuck in Limbo. What could she possibly need us for?_

Arthur recalled Eames' description of the woman whilst they were waiting for Ariadne to wake up. He had woken up with a start, face ashy. "She had the emptiest eyes," he managed to choke out. "But there was something about her…something full of _anger_…"

The cocky Forger's state of disorientation was enough to give Arthur pause. He and Eames turned to the sleeping Architect at the same time, both watching her. They both had worry in their eyes, but only one of them tried to conceal it.

Arthur's train of thought stopped in its tracks when he spied the businessman with the cuff links down the hall, leaving the conference room. Pushing off the wall, Arthur jogged after him, the carpeted floor muffling his footfalls.

The man rounded the corner and cut across the deserted lobby. Arthur dove behind the reception desk as two men in black suits emerged from the men's room to meet him.

Thankfully, the marble lobby carried sound wonderfully.

"Where'd you set up?" the businessman asked.

"We're in the security office. Don't worry. The guards are all taken care of."

"Alright, let's get this over with."

As soon as they started moving, Arthur was up and following after them. They went down a narrow corridor and into the last door on the right. Arthur heard a lock click behind them and cursed under his breath, rummaging inside his suit pocket for the skeleton key he had swiped off the reception desk earlier. Luckily, a Point Man was always prepared.

Well, usually.

Arthur slid the key into the lock with one hand and pulled his gun out of his belt with the other, quickly turning off the safety. The door swung open and the two black suits were on him immediately, firing. Arthur ducked down as two bullets embedded themselves into the wall directly where he'd been standing a moment ago. Hastily, he fired a round into one of their kneecaps, sending the suit down, howling in pain. Arthur aimed a bullet at the other suit's hand, the shot sending the gun flying out of his hand, along with one of his fingers.

The suit did not scream. Rather, he bit down on his lip and staggered towards the Point Man, holding a four-fingered hand gingerly in front of him. With animal rage in his eyes, he used his good hand to grab Arthur by the throat and slam him against the wall.

Black dots swam in the Point Man's vision for a moment as the suit wrestled the gun out of his hand. He let Arthur go, only to punch him in the stomach, doubling him over. Groaning in pain, Arthur straightened out slowly and aimed a kick at the suit's ribcage. The man flew backward, and Arthur sank his knee into the suit's stomach, shoving him onto his back on the ground. It was Arthur's turn to grab the suit by the collar.

"Whatever your boss is thinking of doing to Fischer, he can forget it. I've got people on the lookout for anyone armed," he hissed.

The suit laughed, though it sounded more like a gurgle. "Too bad…" he rasped. "…none of them are on the lookout for micro-explosives."

Time, itself, felt as though it had come to a halt. Arthur drew in a sharp breath. "Impossible. We swept the room for explosives."

"One of our men slipped it into Fischer's jacket pocket before he came into the conference room," the suit snorted.

"When is this going to do off?" Arthur demanded.

"Guess you'll have to find that out for yourself."

Arthur scowled, picking the man up by the throat and smashing his head down against the floor. "Tell me, or I'll rip your jaw clean off."

"Even if you do, I'm not the one with the detonator," the suit sneered weakly, condescending even as he was barely coherent.

Arthur hauled off and caught the suit with a right hook, knocking him unconscious. Climbing off of him, Arthur picked up his Smith & Wesson and made sure it was loaded before scanning the room for another door. There–a gray steel one. Arthur coaxed the lock open, all the while running through different solutions in his head–evacuations…dismantling…

The door opened to a room whose walls were studded with security monitors. Two men in security uniforms, obviously subdued with chloroform, slumped against the wall next to the door. The man with the cuff links sat in a swivel chair, eyes fixed on the bird's eye view of the conference room until Arthur barged in, pointing the gun at him.

He turned around. "What the–"

One of the screens next to him exploded in a shower of sparks as Arthur fired at it. "I've got a question, and if you don't answer it correctly, the next bullet will land in your forehead." He took a moment to sweep the room with his eyes.

"Wondering where the bomb is?" The man's voice was calm.

"I know where the bomb is. I want to know where the detonator is."

"Ah. That's simple." The businessman raised his left wrist. The pointer finger of his right hand inched slowly towards the left cuff link.

"_No_!" Arthur dove at him, knocking him out of his chair and onto his stomach. The Point Man yanked the man's wrists behind him and pressed a knee against the small of his back. Holding his wrists with one hand, Arthur groped for the handcuffs around the belt of one of the unconscious security guards and snapped them onto the businessman's wrist.

And then, with trembling fingers, he reached for the cuff links...

**...**

"–therefore, I must conclude that my decision to break up the old Fischer Corp was not only personal, but in the best interests of all employees. A newer, stronger Fischer Corp is on the horizon, one I hope you are all here to witness," Fischer finished. The conference room applauded, and he inclined his head slightly, acknowledging everyone. His eyes slowly slid over the rows of audience members, making sure to make eye contact with every single one of them. _Entrepreneurs are as much actors as anything else_, he remembered his father saying once. _Engaging the crowd is always important._

However, as important as engaging was, he couldn't stop his eyes from stopping at a certain young woman. Her warm brown eyes flickered upwards to meet his, and Fischer looked away, swallowing as a blush rose to his cheeks. The moment she turned, his eyes were back on her, watching her hair sway, her throat undulate as she swallowed, her pale pink lips purse and slacken.

_Quit being an idiot, Robert_, he chided himself._ You're being unprofessional._

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Fischer watched as Eames and Yusuf came barreling down across the room, Ariadne in tow. As they cut through crowds of well-wishers and ass-kissers headed for the young entrepreneur, the Forger shouted apologies. When they reached him, Eames yanked him aside.

"Take your jacket off."

"What?"

"There's a micro-explosive in your jacket. Someone planted it there before you started your speech."

Fischer's mouth dropped open.

"Come on!"

"Oh–sorry–" he scrambled to work, yanking his jacket off with panicked movements. Eames growled something under his breath and helped him out of it. As soon as the offending article of clothing had been removed, the Forger bolted, sprinting out of the room with the jacket in tow.

Yusuf's cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out and flipped it open, pressing it to his ear.

Arthur's voice came on. "Did you get him out of the room?"

"We got his jacket out. Eames has got it."

"Call him. Tell him to meet me in the security office down the hall from the lobby."

"Alright."

"When I call again, bring Fischer and Ariadne down here. Do you have the compound?"

"It's in my briefcase."

"Good. Wait for my call."

The line went dead.

**...**

Twenty minutes later, the Chemist's phone went off again. Ariadne watched him turn away with it pressed to his cheek, murmuring something in a low voice.

When he hung up and turned back to them, his eyes were dark. "You," he said, addressing Fischer. "Arthur wants us down in the security office. Come with us."

Wordlessly, Fischer followed Yusuf. Ariadne brought up the rear, half-running to keep up with the two men.

When they reached the room, Ariadne saw two men in black suits lying on the floor. They were both dead, their blood red and fresh. One of them still clutched a four-fingered hand, the blood on the stump where his middle finger would be older, brown and sticky. Ariadne's stomach clenched as they sidestepped the corpses and opened a gray steel door, leading into a room full of monitors. The businessman with the cuff links was on the floor, heavily sedated. Arthur and Eames conversed quietly in the corner. When they came in, the Point Man looked up. Even in the low light of the room, Ariadne could see how tight his jaw was.

"We managed to disarm the explosive. I called some of your men down to sweep the conference room again. You should be safe for now," he informed Fischer.

"Are you sure?"

Arthur nudged the businessman with his toe. "That's what I managed to get out of this guy. But be warned, it's attracted a lot of attention. The press is going to be all over this."

"So now what?" Ariadne demanded.

"We use Yusuf's compound to knock him down. Lock him up in one of the hotel rooms and wait for the buzz about the bomb scare to die down before breaking into his head. We'll do it first thing tomorrow."

"So we get the night off?" Eames asked, hopeful. Ariadne knew he meant to make a beeline for the hotel bar.

"I guess so."

"How convenient. Fischer Corp's hosting a banquet and ball in the hotel ballroom at six," Fischer announced. "Naturally, you're all invited."

"I don't think that would be wise–" Arthur began.

Eames slapped him on the back. "C'mon, Arthur. Don't be such a wet blanket."

Ariadne smiled. She had never really been to a fancy ball before, and the prospect was enticing. "Can we? Please?"

Arthur sighed, feeling (and looking) very much like a parent surrounded by small children. "Alright," he conceded. "Fine."

Ariadne was about to thank him when something occurred to her. "I...don't have anything nice to wear," she realized aloud.

"I can have something delivered to your hotel room," Fischer said.

Ariadne's stomach did a little flip. Whatever Fischer got her would probably be worth thousands of dollars...and gorgeous...Ariadne wasn't the kind of girl that played dress-up.

But she had always wanted to. "Well, okay," she replied.

The team made their way out of the room, Arthur dispatching more of Fischer's men to clean up the bodies. As they stepped out into the lobby, Fischer fell back to walk with her.

"Ariadne," he said.

She turned. "Yeah?"

"Could I...perhaps escort you to the banquet tonight?"

_Oh my God. He just asked you out. Robert Fischer just asked you out. To a _ball_. Like in a Disney movie._

"S-sure," she stammered.

"I'll pick you up at six," he murmured, smiling at her before hurrying forward to meet with a team of his men, who had come to him with questions about security.

Ariadne couldn't help but glance over at Arthur. Yusuf was saying something to him, but his eyes were elsewhere, watching Fischer's back. Ariadne saw them narrow momentarily.

_Wonder what _that _was about_.

**A/N: Aaaaa! Chapter attack! I hope you liked this chapter. I just went to see Inception for the third time with a friend who hadn't seen it, and I found myself inexplicably cracking up at some of the most serious parts. Ah, well. I'm insane.**

**WARNING: Rating will most likely go up in the next chapter, due to some sexytimes.**

**Rate and review!**


	5. Chapter 5

A knock on the door alerted Ariadne to the arrival of the dress. She hit 'pause' on her iPod, cutting off Nirvana mid-chorus.

Fischer stood outside the door, holding a black garment bag. "Delivery," he said, grinning.

She had been expecting one of his men. A blush colored her cheeks. "Thanks."

For a moment, they were both silent. Then Ariadne remembered herself. "Uh–want to come in?"

"Sure."

They went into the hotel room. Ariadne hurried about, tossing the clothes that lay scattered about into her open suitcase and smoothing out the bedcovers. Fischer sat in the desk chair and watched her.

He looked wonderful in his pale gray suit, one lock of hair falling into his amazingly blue eyes. Ariadne almost wanted to check if she was dreaming. After all, since when had really hot guys wanted to take her to dinner and dances?

She picked up the garment bag. "I'll go…change in the bathroom. Just wait out here for me."

Locking the door behind her, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. _Come on, Ari. Change into the dress. You can do this._

Her eyes opened, a new resolve in them. She reached for the garment bag.

**…**

"Where's our lovely little lady?" Eames asked, downing his third (or maybe fourth) flute of champagne. Arthur ignored him, downing is second (or maybe third).

"And where's our host?" Yusuf added, returning to them with a cute, laughing Asian girl in tow. He whispered something into her ear and she giggled some more, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

"He should be down here soon enough," Eames replied. "And hopefully, we'll get to see what our Architect is wearing." His eyes slid to Arthur. "What do you want to bet he chose something _rather _low-cut?"

"I'd _rather _not discuss this," Arthur snapped, setting the champagne flute down and reaching for another.

"Tetchy, tetchy." Eames was about to say something else about the resident stick-in-the-mud, when he saw who was entering the ballroom.

The room went silent as Fischer and Ariadne made their way down the ballroom's grand staircase. Ariadne wore a green silk halter dress. The skirt flared out from the snug bodice and ended just below her knees. Her hair was done in an elegant up 'do, a few wavy tendrils falling around her cheeks.

She looked…

"Gorgeous," Eames murmured, elbowing the Point Man. "Put your tongue back in your mouth, Arthur."

Arthur didn't answer him, so entranced was he by the femme fatale the tomboyish Architect had suddenly become. Fischer's and Ariadne's arms were linked, and as he spotted them, he led her to the team's table.

"Ooh, they're coming over here." Arthur didn't even have to look to know that Eames was grinning from ear to ear. It was awkward moments like these that the Forger thrived on.

"Evening," Fischer said, coming behind Ariadne and taking the shimmery wrap she wore off her shoulders, before laying it across the back of a chair. "I hope you're all enjoying yourselves."

"Oh, we are," Eames answered, smirking as he twirled his champagne flute. "Especially the free bubbly. Much appreciated."

"Looks like Yusuf's enjoying himself," Ariadne noted, gesturing towards the Chemist, who was twirling the Asian girl around on the crowded dance floor. "I didn't know he liked to dance."

"Dancing. What an excellent idea." Fischer offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

"I-I don't know how to dance…" she replied, her cheeks pinkening.

"No worries. I'll lead."

"Oh. Okay." Smiling nervously, she put her hand in his and he led her to the dance floor.

"Smooth," Arthur muttered into his glass. Eames snorted.

**…**

The dance floor was hot with the sheer amount of bodies it held. Fischer twirled the Architect gracefully around.

"I didn't know you could dance," she said as she came to face him again. His hands slid around her waist.

"I had to take ballroom dancing when I was younger," he replied.

"Why? Were you taking finishing school lessons or something?"

"Something like that. Fischer Corp's my kingdom. Somehow, learning how to ballroom dance factored into ruling it successfully."

She laughed, and he gave a low chuckle, pulling her a little closer to him. Pressed against his warm chest, Ariadne breathed in the slightly smoky cologne he wore and gently rested a cheek against his chest.

After a moment, Fischer's hand came under her chin, tipping her head up, and he lowered his lips towards hers as the band playing finished the slow, dreamy song they'd been playing.

It was a soft, pleasant kiss, the kind someone who spent lot of time with women would know how to give. Ariadne tasted something mildly salty on his lips, something that made her think of the ocean. As his hand slowly traveled to cup the side of her face, Ariadne wondered if anyone was watching.

And a smaller, tenser part of her felt an awful sinking feeling in her stomach when she wondered if Arthur was.

**…**

Arthur watched them dance together, a knot forming in his stomach that no amount of champagne could undo. By the end of the song, he had consumed roughly eight or nine glasses of it, and was starting to feel its effects.

So when Fischer decided to get all cuddly and shove his tongue in Ariadne's mouth, it was the champagne that fueled Arthur's actions.

Ariadne and Fischer broke their kiss and came back to the table. As soon as they sat down, one of Fischer's associates came over and requested a word with him. The heir excused himself and went after the businessman.

Arthur glanced around. Eames was at the bar counter, sucking the wine cellar dry. Yusuf and his girl were still dancing.

"I didn't know you and Fischer were quite _that _into each other," he said, trying to keep his tone light despite all the alcohol that was threatening to unbalance him.

"I…" clearly taken off guard, she closed her mouth and opened it again. "Arthur–"

"Hey, don't look at me like that. You can kiss whoever you want."

"Is that why you kissed _me_? Just because you _could_?"

The question threw _him_ off. His eyes found hers. She didn't look angry, or sad. Just serious.

For a moment, their dark eyes stayed locked.

"No."

"No?"

"I kissed you because I wanted to. Very, very much." He moved forward slightly. "And I still do."

"And I want you to. Very, very much." She looked down at her hands. He did too, admiring her white, shapely fingers. The fingers of an artist. Of an Architect.

Arthur's face came forward slightly, but he stopped himself from kissing her at the very last moment. Instead, his lips grazed her ear. "Want to get out of here?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

**…**

Arthur's hand was warm and strong, and it held hers as they snuck out of the ballroom and into a corridor where a bank of elevators waited. Arthur hit the 'up' button, and one set of doors slid open.

Pulling her inside, he didn't even wait for the doors to close before pushing her up against the wall and kissing her.

This kiss was nothing like the one she had shared with Fischer in the ballroom. It was not quick and sentimental. This kiss was lusty, forceful and demanding, a kiss that satisfied every single one of her needs.

His mouth was hotter than Fischer's, hot as a furnace, and his tongue was sweet and burningly spicy, like cinnamon. His hands pinned her arms to the elevator wall on either side of her head.

_Incredible_, a voice in the back of her mind murmured. _In-fucking-credible_.

The elevator doors gave a soft, metallic sigh as they parted, revealing their floor. Arthur reluctantly stepped back, only to grab her arm and lead her down the hall, to where his hotel room was. Pressing her to the door, his mouth found hers again as he rummaged in his pocket for his hotel key-card, and then he swiped it, opening the door and pushing them both inside.

Ariadne could feel his warm hands cupping the backs of her thighs, and she threw her arms around his neck and brought her legs up around his waist as he tumbled them both down onto the hotel bed. Ariadne parted her legs further as she felt his length press against her panties. She ground gently against him, relishing the feel of his arousal against hers. His lips glided down to her neck and his hand reached around her shoulders to undo the ties on her dress, leaving them hanging below her breasts, which she had left bare because no bra would fit under the tight fabric without embarrassing lines.

**…**

The Point Man smirked at the sight of her naked, nubile breasts, which were smaller than he had expected, but not in a bad way. He liked how fresh, how pure she seemed. He felt as though this was the real Ariadne, not the one waltzing around with the heir to Fischer Corp.

But he wasn't really in the mood for a heavy psychoanalysis.

He didn't want to think about how Fischer factored into all of this.

He didn't want to think about Cobb possibly never waking up.

He didn't want to think about Ariadne's mind being attacked by Mal.

He'd much prefer simply setting thinking aside for awhile.

**…**

Arthur's fingers hastily worked the pins out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. He unzipped her dress and she shimmied out of it, kicking it off the bed.

Lying beneath him in just a pair of white lace panties, Ariadne closed her eyes. She knew that whatever happened tonight would very well change the course of their relationship, and that knowledge left her with a strange, aching worry. Would Arthur be unsatisfied? Would he think she was unskilled? Her one brief sexual encounter was painful and mercifully quick, a year ago. She had liked the boy very much but had trouble holding onto the relationship after the experience. Arthur had probably plowed his fair share of babes.

_Stop _worrying, she urged herself. _Just lie back and let this happen._

His hand slid beneath the fabric of her briefs and she gasped aloud as he slid a finger inside her. Her walls flexed and tightened as he caressed her with a skill suited to him.

When he added another digit, the pleasure increased threefold. She arched her back and moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders through his suit jacket. She could feel the first shallow waves of orgasm approaching, and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out too loud as she climaxed, the world turning momentarily brighter.

He shrugged off his suit jacket as he waited for her to calm down. Ariadne smiled to herself as she looked up at him clad in his slacks, his shirt and his vest.

The damn vest. For lack of a better phrase, he looked damn hot in his vest. The Architect could recall with embarrassing clarity the first time she had seen him in the vest, when they were in the hotel. Even then, she had been extremely turned on.

"I like your vest," she whispered throatily, her voice trembling slightly from her climax.

He laughed. "I'm glad to hear it."

"But…" here she reached up and undid the top button. "I'd much rather see you _without _it."

"I'm even gladder to hear that," he breathed, ducking his head down so that his lips were almost touching hers. He let her undo the rest of the buttons on the vest and then his shirt, and she stripped them away, now free to admire the lean, tanned muscles of his chest and stomach. He planted his hands on either side of her shoulders and slid his legs between her knees, pressing his bare chest to hers. Ariadne shuddered in pleasure at the feel of his warm skin against hers. With one hand, she reached down, the back of her hand brushing against the jut in his trousers, and he let out a muted groan.

_Well, here goes nothing, Ari_, she thought as she pulled down his zipper.

When he entered her, she felt a surge of white heat wash over her. The initial aching throb was muted and bearable, and it subsided in moments as he picked up the speed of his thrusts. Her hands curled around his muscular shoulders, finding relief in how warm and solid he was.

This would not be a clumsy, drunken encounter at a college party. This would be the kind of thing quiet girls like Ariadne could only dream of.

**...**

The Point Man gripped handfuls of hotel bedspread to steady himself as he plunged in and out of her. She was wonderfully tight, almost a virgin, and her body was wonderfully smooth and pliable. He pressed his lips to the junction between her shoulder and her neck, tongue tasting the sweat on her skin.

"Arthur," she groaned, bucking her hips to match his pace. He let out a moan, loving the feel of her walls pressing close around him. In all the times he had fantasized about making love to her, his imagination had never done her justice.

"Ah...I..." her muscles clenched and he felt a shiver go through her whole body as she was buoyed to new heights. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur was delighted he could stir up this kind of reaction in her, as he felt the heat flood them. He increased his pace, knowing he couldn't last much longer.

**...**

Ariadne was euphoric, exhausted and overjoyed as her pulse slowly decreased. She had never known pleasure like this.

Arthur gave one final thrust and let out a hoarse, lusty groan as he released himself inside of her. Ariadne could feel his warmth mingling with hers as he pulled out of her and flopped down beside her on the bed, panting in exhaustion. Ariadne's eyes fluttered closed, and she fought to keep them open, fought to turn her head and look at the profile of the man who had just taken her places she never guessed existed.

She caught one good look, his burning dark eyes fixed on the cieling overhead, the taut muscles on his arms and torso beaded with sweat, Adam's apple jumping as his breathing slowed.

And then she surrendered to sleep.

**...**

Arthur switched off the shower and wrapped a hotel towel around his waist. Grabbing a smaller towel to dry his hair, he headed out of the bathroom and into the main hotel area. Ariadne lay asleep, clad in her panties and his dress shirt. Smiling to himself, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Her eyes flickered open. "Are you leaving?"

"Should I?"

"No...stay..." she reached out a hand. He took it in his.

"Alright."

**...**

They slept intertwined that night, arms and legs in a tangle. His chin rested at the top of her head, and he breathed in that wonderful flowery smell she exuded as he slowly drifted off.

Both of their subconsciouses flickered with a million fears and worries and dreads, but that night they managed to dig themselves a small niche of peace.

And in that niche, their dreams were beautiful.

**A/N: Okay, stupid ending maybe. But writing a sex scene just takes it out of me. I hope I did it ok X{ (that's my worried/constipated face). Anyways, sorry for the wait and I hope it was worth it!**


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